


Summertime

by saverockandsoulpunk (orphan_account)



Series: Rumoured Nights [2]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: AU, Fantasy, M/M, Magical Realism, Supernatural - Freeform, faery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-08-09 18:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7811959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/saverockandsoulpunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Peter Pan returns," Patrick remarked dryly when Pete appeared in his bedroom once again.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  </p><p> </p><p>  <i>"Sure you wanna go with that one? 'Cause it makes you Wendy," Pete observed.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (you will need to read part 1 for this to make any sense) found an old draft for this series and edited it a little bit, so here! don't expect chapter 2 too soon because I have a lot of other projects in the works right now haha  
> ps: honestly, i'm not sure whether to write some mild smut for this series or not, so if you could let me know in the comments where you want it to go i'd love that!

 

  
"Peter Pan returns," Patrick remarked dryly when Pete appeared in his bedroom once again.

  
"Sure you wanna go with that one? 'Cause it makes you Wendy," Pete observed.

  
"Ooh, Peter, teach me to _fly_!" Patrick exclaimed shrilly, going from sarcastic shrill to actually shrill when Pete cut him off with a kiss and he squeaked in surprise.

It was chaste, just a greeting really, and Pete pulled away quickly - blushing when he handed Patrick a little bouquet of flowers. Pete straightened up and pressed a wandering finger to Patrick's bottom lip.

  
"Where do you get all these flowers from? It's winter, in Chicago, and you're living proof that it's not a good place for flowers," Patrick wondered aloud once he'd managed to recover. He hoped Pete didn't notice the worried look Patrick shot him - he looked a little better but he was still pale.

His shrug and noncommittal gesture made Patrick think that this was one of those things that he wasn't going to explain. Probably, it fed his ego to make him feel mysterious; equally likely, he just genuinely didn't know, being the world's least educated faery ever.  
"No presents?" Patrick teased.

Pete grinned and waggled a finger.  
"I'm not your... help me out here? I'm trying to make a pun out of fairy godmother and sugar daddy, but I'm stuck."  
Patrick looked up at Pete and giggled.

Pete eyed him. "Don't disrespect your benevolent... woodland friend, or whatever the hell you said, you little freak," he chided, beaming with an intensity in his eyes that made Patrick squirm.

"I can't _believe_ I said that," he admitted, then he changed course and said, "Why do I have to leave my window open anyway? You don't even use it, and I get shit from my mom every time."

"I _do_ use it," Pete argued.

  
"I've never _once_ seen you climbing in my window. You just appear in my room," Patrick countered easily.

  
"Fine. But I need it open, 'cause it counts as like, allowing me in," Pete cast his eyes down, looking embarrassed about revealing this information.

Patrick yawned. It was a fake yawn, but Pete didn't need to know that to reflexively copy it. "You've been standing there for like twenty minutes. Come over here," Patrick wheedled. Pete, looking about to fall over from exhaustion, obliged and pulled off his jeans. When he climbed into Patrick's double bed, he immediately stole all the duvet to cover him while he remained sitting up.

Patrick had only really known him for about a month, but Pete's presence made him feel ways that usually took a lot longer.

"Can't I just say, like, 'Pete is always allowed in', or something?" Patrick suggested, yawning for real this time.  
"You could, yeah. I didn't want to ask you to," Pete mumbled shyly.

  
"It's done now anyway," Patrick huffed a sleepy laugh, resting his head on Pete's shoulder. "What about sleep, though? You're always going on about sunlight or whatever, so I'm pretty sure you're not nocturnal, but you always visit at night. When are you sleeping?"

Pete shuffled on the bed. "Not much. I don't like sleeping. Can't-" He broke off, and Patrick knew there was something there, but didn't push it yet. "In between. Sun, Patrick, sleep."  
Last time, Pete hadn't left until at least four AM.

"That's not really enough sleep." Patrick had an arm slung loosely around Pete's waist and he let his fingers climb up to hesitantly explore the petals there.

He'd hoped it would be reassuring but Pete went very still and then started quivering. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he stuttered, gasping.

Panicked, Patrick snatched his hand away, thinking he was hurting Pete. "What? Why?"

  
Once his hand was gone, Pete regained his easy smirk. "Well, uh, I guess, think back to your... I dunno, seventh grade biology, or something. Think what flowers are actually for."

Patrick's eyes widened in cartoonish embarrassment and then he peeked around Pete's back about three times when he thought Pete wouldn't notice.

"Do you. Um," Patrick coughed, "Do you still have a, um."

  
Pete stared at Patrick with an amazed expression on his face.  
"Patrick," he breathed, "You're _amazing_. I'm keeping you forever. We're just going to sit here all day and you can quiz me about my biology all you want if you're going to be that cute when you do it. Yes, Paddy, I have an 'um'."

  
Patrick blinked at him multiple times in a row. "Why, d'you want it?" Pete added cheekily.

Turning red, Patrick hit him and changed the subject. "Go to sleep. I'm worried about you. Did you get your UV lamp? I don't think you could stay still long enough to actually absorb anything from it, but." He lay down on his back.

  
"I'm not a good sleeper," Pete admitted, still sitting. "Especially not... I can't sleep on my back, at the moment."  
Patrick sighed and rolled over to face Pete. "Pete," He murmured kindly, "Come on. Sleep." With one hand, he tugged Pete down.

"Will you be the little spoon?" Pete utilised the pleading voice Patrick was becoming worryingly familiar with, and Patrick obliged with no protest. Pete buried his face in Patrick's shoulder blades. "Can we talk a bit? I'm not... I can't-"

  
"Yeah, okay. Oh, right, I was going to- where do you even live, by the way?" Patrick asked.

Humming sleepily, Pete sounded like he'd just decided that he lived: "In a hollow tree, in the deepest, darkest part of the forest." He giggled into Patrick's back. "No, I live in Wilmette."

  
Groaning, Patrick replied, "Fuck you, you nearly had me for a second. How come you can live in Wilmette, but being in Glenview makes you this sick?"

"Firstly, it's not just being here, it's the winter and the flowering but mainly it's because I'm inside.” Pete took a deep breath and his expression changed into one that looked like he was going to be explaining a lot.

 

“I mean, Wilmette is home and it's further out and I live right on the outskirts, and I took all the metal I could find out of my house and I live near a park and I live in a much more open area and I have one of those walls where the whole wall is a window, but mainly it's because I'm not inside much, that's where it's bad." He paused to breathe and Patrick smiled fondly at him.

"I usually stick to outside and just come in for showers and to sleep." He yawned again at the mention of sleep, and Patrick went back to worrying about him again. If being inside made Pete sick, surely it wasn't easy to get to sleep inside.

"Can I- Okay, I have kind of a ton of questions, so is it okay if I just ask you all of them?" He felt Pete nod against his shoulder blade and continued. “Um… do you eat?"

Patrick felt slightly alarmed at the fact that there was a half-naked man in bed with him and Patrick didn't even know if he ate. There was another warm laugh against his back through his thin shirt.

"You're a-" Patrick's glare burned a hole in the wall in front. Pete must've felt it and changed tack.  
"Normal shit, like everyone else. Not sure how it works, again, ask my mom. It's like, the sun is for energy and food is for vitamins and protein and shit. I mean, that's a guess. Next question?"

"You're so disappointing. I thought that you were going to be some cool, magical sprite dude who lived in the woods and granted wishes and spoke in an Irish accent. You're just a really flowery emo," he mumbled affectionately.

Pete laughed throatily and Patrick felt the warm vibrations against his back. "You actually sound a lot like my mom."

  
Patrick bit his lip. "Yeah, well. Next… how old are you?" He was half under the impression that Pete was possibly immortal or at least in possession of an incredibly long lifespan. Pete's childish excitement, strange fits of morbid seriousness, young person's clothes and ancient eyes that seemed full of youthful exuberance and mischief the next second, threw Patrick off, though.

It wasn't implausible that Pete could be two toddlers in a trench coat, or a sixty year old who dyed his hair badly and moisturised well.  
Pete beamed. At least, Patrick thought so from the sensation of lips moving against his back. "Twenty one."

"Not immortal then?" It was embarrassing to admit, but Patrick had to check. The airy laugh seemed to mean no. Patrick had known he was at least college age, and found himself more comforted by the fact that he wasn't immortal than alarmed that he _wasn't_ seventeen.

"Okay, then just... tell me about yourself?"

  
Hot breath blowing out against Patrick's neck, Pete sighed. "Uh, I already told you most of the stuff about me. You know I go to DePaul, I'm studying Poli Sci. But I play- there's... it's tricky," he paused, thoughtful.

"I have to... Music- it's words, mainly, words for music. I have to do them, it's the faery thing, it's like a compulsion. That's why when I- when I heard you sing, I had to... I'm in a couple of bands, because I have to. Like when you're, when you're on a stage and there's all these people and they're- uh. I'm sorry it's just-" He sounded anxious. Wishing to be the big spoon so he was in a better position for reassurance, Patrick nodded.

"I get that." He wanted to explain more, but he couldn't figure the right way to phrase it. "How do you do all that, I mean like going to college and being on a stage, with the, um..."

  
To himself, Pete reaffirmed, "So adorable," and kissed Patrick sincerely on the back, just above the neck of his shirt.

There was no way Pete could see Patrick was blushing, but he was sniggering like he knew anyway. "This only lasts for like a couple weeks max, 'Trick. It's been extra long this time... feels like it's waiting for something."

"Does it leave a scar?"

  
"Yes. You should go to sleep. I don't want to keep you from your precious beauty sleep.”

"Will you be there when I wake up?" As he spoke, Patrick heard and hated the whine in his voice but he couldn't help it. You would understand if you were seventeen and there was a lowkey magic, highkey attractive guy in your bed.

"D'you think your mom would like that? Ooh, speaking of things your mom would like, have you seen my tattoos? Whatever, I'll show you another time, I'm comfy. I've seen your mom though. Think she'd wanna join us?"

Patrick thwacked Pete on the thigh. "You're the worst fairy godmother. Who do I talk to to get you replaced?" he whined.

  
"It's past midnight. You're stuck with me forever."

  
"Shut the fuck up and go to sleep," Patrick grumbled back.

  
"That's no way to speak to your fairy god-" Sighing, Patrick rolled over and cut Pete off with a kiss.

More confidently than he felt, he bit aggressively at Pete's lips. To Patrick's satisfaction, Pete went still and then loo wriggled closer, opened his mouth, and groaned for Patrick. Tentatively, Patrick obliged and slid his tongue into Pete's mouth.

It was their first kiss that Patrick had lead and Patrick groaned in surprise when he met Pete's mouth, hot and wet and Pete. Pete's laugh vibrated through him and he pulled away, feeling a little dizzy.  
Pete stared at him for a few moments and then brought a finger towards Patrick's lips, rubbing it along the swollen bottom one.

  
"So cute," he repeated, for the millionth time that evening. His eyes rolled up into his head when Patrick parted his lips and Pete's finger slid in, just enough to dampen the fingernail.

"Woah woah woah, that's for a lot later." He pulled away, and Patrick went pink when he realised what Pete was talking about; redder when he realised Pete had said 'for a lot later' like it _was_ going to happen at some point.

  
Guiding Patrick back over into little spoon position and sticking his chin happily into Patrick's shoulder Pete sighed, "I hope I die in my sleep tonight. That way, I'll die happy."

 

***

 

The giant rabbit was lurching everywhere. Patrick felt a little sick. A lot sick. He made a note to complain to the appropriate authorities, not that he could think who that would be, at this moment.

Probably because it was just as he opened his eyes and saw Pete shaking him awake. His eyes were wide and guilty and kept darting over Patrick's shoulders, trying to see his back. Come to think of it, Patrick's back _did_ hurt...

"Patrick, fucking finally. Damn you're a heavy sleeper."  
Patrick resisted the urge to stumble up into Pete's arms and embarrass himself by screaming 'You stayed!'

Whatever was making Pete shift nervously, Patrick didn't think he could deal with it this early in the morning. "Nmmgg," he said reasonably.

  
Pete was chewing his lip now. "Patrick, uh. Um. You gotta- there's a- can you turn over? Onto your front?"

  
Frowning sleepily, Patrick wriggled over and immediately felt cold fingers on his back, heard a breath being sucked in. The fingers gently poked his skin. Patrick screamed.  
"Owowow, Pete, get off, you're hurting me! Ow ow hurts so bad make it stop please stop stop."

To his relief, he felt the fingers pull away and wiggled back onto his side to face Pete. "Pete?"

  
Pete looked white. "I'm calling my mom."

  
"What? Why? What's going on," Patrick asked desperately, alternating between looking up at Pete and trying to look at his own back. Pete's bottom lip was bleeding now from being chewed at so aggressively. He looked away.  
"Pete," Patrick warned. Pete sighed.

"Okay, so I'm- You're... Your dad's a folk singer, right? And you... I don't know what questions I'm meant to ask to be sure. Mom would know. She would've known straightaway, probably."

He ran a hand through his hair viciously and then yelled a frustrated ' _aaaaH_!' at the ceiling. Eventually he regained his composure. "I only know now because I can sense it. God, Patrick, I can _smell_ it, it's so- it's about to become incredibly obvious, anyways," he hazarded a cryptic glance at Patrick's back.

Patrick wanted to cry: He decided he was definitely sick - his limbs felt heavy, he felt tired and weak and his back ached like fuck; there was a low thrumming running through him like how he felt when he'd been woken halfway through a wet dream. On top of this, Pete was stood in front of him acting agitated, shouting at him, and telling Patrick he stank.

The small logical part of Patrick told the rest of him that there was no reason for him to cry. Patrick wiped his eyes and angrily told Pete that he'd showered yesterday and that was kind of rude.

Pete crouched down next to the bed and touched Patrick's sweaty forehead. "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. Do you know what's going on?" His voice was gentle and his gaze didn't waver as he stared into Patrick's eyes, calming him. Patrick's head shook, radiating confusion.

"Okay. It's okay. I'm sorry, I didn't explain super well, right. So, I mean I'm taking a guess here because, hello - world's least knowledgeable faery, but there's one thing I definitely know, I'm just not too sure why.” He stopped to cut off his ramble and ran a hand over his face. When he spoke again it was much clearer.

"Here's my guess: you're part faery and it would just've gone dormant your whole life. You'd maybe have a fondness for and skill at the Arts; be a little more graceful than the average person; have cool coloured eyes - which, no fair! I'm one hundred percent, born and raised and I have shit eyes-" he added petulantly.

Patrick studied Pete's molten eyes, lighter today than they'd been before and flecked with green if you squinted, and checked 'strongly disagree' on some mental questionnaire in his head.

"Anyway! Yeah so it would've been totally fine but along comes me and, heh-" he puffed a sheepish laugh and started chewing his lip again, "The particular time at which I turned up - as in, when I'm flowering - might have possibly triggered you..."

Patrick went white. His brain went: _Imafaery Petecalledmetalentedandgraceful Petesaidmyeyesarecool mybackhurtssobad Iurgentlyneedtojerkoff isthisgoingtohurt isthisevenreal peteyoufucker mymomisgoingtokillme._ His mouth went: "I have school today. My mom-"

  
"Shit, I didn't even think about _your_ mom... You tell her something while I call my mom."

Patrick considered sitting up so he could be a more worthy opponent but it hurt too much to move right now so he stayed sitting down.  
"What! I'm not telling my mom!"

"Uh, yeah you are. You're not going to school today, so you need to at least say you're sick or whatever, I mean - tell her if you want. Maybe the blood's on her side. I doubt it, though, because she'd be able to _smell_ you by now," Pete added, eyes rolling a little into his head as he said the last two words.

Folding his arms, Patrick whined, "I don't smell!"

Pete groaned. "Yeah you do. It's making me dizzy, and I wanna touch you so bad right now."  
Like an incredibly bashful, organic traffic light with a controller who couldn't make up his mind, Patrick went red, then white, red again and finally returned to his sick greenish colour.

  
"Oh. You don't mean like, 'cause I haven't washed," he whispered in realisation. Looking scarily white, Pete shook his head and scrubbed a hand across his face like he was trying to ignore it.

"My mom is going to kill me. I'm calling her, though." He broke off. "You okay?"

Patrick's head was spinning wildly. He hadn't the slightest idea if he was okay, because his brain was too muddled, but he got the feeling that not knowing whether you're okay, usually means that you aren't.  
"Uhh..." he said eloquently. After a blink, Pete was in bed next to him, wrapping around him comfortingly.

"Hey. It's okay. You'll be okay. I gave you a bit too much, too soon there, sorry about that. You'll get the hang of it! I mean, I'm not the brightest or the bravest but I've survived it, right? Anyway, my mom's coming and she knows everything about everything and she'll make sure you're okay. I'll get my mom if you get yours, all right? I'll stay and help you talk to her if you want."

After a moment of thought, Patrick shook his head. "I think having a semi-naked college student punk looking dude in my room, especially when he evidently didn't only arrive this morning, isn't going to help... no offence. I'll tell her by myself."

Pete's worried kiss to Patrick's forehead told him he hadn't done a good job of hiding his terror.

  
"Okay, baby," Pete mumbled with a glazed look, "I'm just going to get my mom, okay, I'll be back in five minutes."

  
"Oh," Patrick blinked, "I thought you were going to call her. On your cell."

Shaking his head, Pete explained that his mother didn't even have a landline. "Yeah, she hates them. Talks about, like, the signals and shit and how they're bad for us like metal is. She likes to use her fancy summoning and that crap anyway, but it's totally because she just doesn't know how to use a phone. As a rule, she kind of hates technology." Accompanied by an eye roll, he continued, "Whatever. I'll be five minutes," and disappeared.

  
***

What do you say to your mom in a circumstance like this? " _Heyyy_ , Mom, I'm actually a fictional creature and I don't actually have any proof as far as I'm aware, apart from the fact that my back really hurts but anyway, can I stay off school for the foreseeable future and can this barely clothed, tattooed guy hang out in my room, alone with me, the whole time? Okay, thanks mom, you're the best!"

Patrick sighed when he heard knocking on his door, and called hoarsely, "Come in!"  
Patricks mom marched in, took one look at her son and bent over him, pressed a hand to his forehead and said, "Aw, honey, you're sick! Okay, you stay right here, I'm going to go call school. Do you want anything, baby?"

Patrick shook his head.  
"Okay, well I have to rush off to work so I don't think you'll see me again before tonight - I might pop back in my lunch break if I have time. Call me if you need me, yeah?" Patrick nodded, and when he looked up there was another lady in his room, appearing the moment Patrick's mom left.

***  
  
Pete's mom was short, round, and dark skinned. Her dark hair was braided into a thick rope that hung to her waist. She wore a plain green tunic, something faintly medieval looking, with flowers embroidered onto it.

Guiltily, Patrick realised he'd been expecting the typical tall, skinny, pale, cruel-eyed storybook faery and chided himself for his stereotyping. One look at Pete and he was clearly not the son of anyone remotely like that, but his descriptions of his mother had brought that particular image to Patrick's brain.

The first thing Pete's mom did was haul Patrick into a crushing hug and mutter, "Oh, sweetie," in his ear. It was pretty intense. She petted Patrick's head and smiled warmly at him.  
  
He felt a little dizzy and surreal about the whole encounter. Mrs Wentz turned on him. "Oh, baby," She crooned, "This is going to hurt. Your first time always hurts-" Patrick almost choked on his own spit when Pete caught his eye with a smirk, "Because all the skin isn't used to it and all the skin over the top is basically tearing. And you're not really made for this, like Peter and I are, and your body is weaker, too."

Pete chose this moment to finally speak. "Mom! Now he's terrified, look what you did," he protested, suddenly a lot closer to Patrick.

Mrs Wentz gave the most maternal chuckle in history and ruffled her son's hair. "Sorry, Patrick, right? It's okay, I brought you the same salve as Pete used to use, to lessen the pain, and then next time it should barely hurt at all, once the path is made. Honestly, honey, we've all done it. You'll be all right."

***

  
Ever since Pete had returned, Patrick had noticed a feeling by the lack of if when he'd left: the way Pete called to him, the bud under his skin pushed against his back every time he caught the scent he'd never noticed before that followed Pete around, the way the thrumming, ready feeling he felt increased when Pete came closer.

When Pete, amazingly shameless in front of his mom, kissed him full on the lips, Patrick arched into the touch and whimpered. He was mortified when Mrs Wentz pulled a bottle out of her bag. "I've got something for that, too." Because apparently Pete's entire family had no concept of privacy.

Pete actually pouted at his mom, turning Patrick a darker red than ever before. He came close again, tugging Patrick's bottom lip with his teeth, and Patrick felt something right about to stab through his back. Face scrunched up in pain, he shoved Pete off, whimpering, "Hurtshurtshurtssobad," until he stilled at the feel of something cold and tingly spreading across his back.

Pete was carefully massaging the cream into his skin, listening attentively to his mother's instructions. Patrick shifted up from his slump to be fully upright, to allow better access for Pete.

"You might black out," his lips grazed Patrick's ear, "That's okay, don't be scared if that happens, it just means you won't feel anything. I'll look after you, don't worry."

  
Deliriously affectionate, Patrick told him, "You're a sap," and then giggled at his own appropriate word choice.

  
***

  
When Patrick woke up, there were no Wentzes to be seen. Also, there was a drying wetness in his underpants. Hopefully no one had noticed, and Pete's mom could give him that bottle of stuff sooner rather than later.

Patrick was very proud of himself for managing not to ask frantically after Pete as soon as he came to. Instead, he decided to count to ten and, if no one appeared, calmly shout for Mrs Wentz, because he didn't feel able to get up right now.

On seven, Pete bounced into the room and launched himself at Patrick, just stopping himself short of kissing him. Patrick thought if anyone touched him right now he would probably black out again.

Luckily, Pete seemed to know this, because he held back, twitching with the effort.  
"You smelled pretty good before," he said in Patrick's ear, "I literally can't handle it now, it's taking serious effort not to-"

  
"Yep," Patrick agreed tightly, "I really need your mom's potion thing. If you don't get off me I'm about three seconds away from-" Pete leapt off the bed and re-appeared in the doorway with the bottle from earlier.

Patrick wished Pete wouldn't do that while he was still reeling with dizziness, and keeping track of Pete's movement was making him feel sick. He closed his eyes, aware of Pete dribbling the liquid into his mouth and a gentle touch somewhere on his back that definitely hadn't been there before.

Patrick turned and gaped at Pete. Of course, he'd known that this would be the outcome. But it was different once it had actually happened: there was definitely something growing out of Patrick's back. Pete, too, was impressed, staring at it with a dreamy look, bending towards it like he was hypnotised; like a sunflower towards the sun.

Patrick tried to look over his own shoulder, confused frustration warring with flattered curiosity. "So pretty," Pete whispered, awed.

  
When his hand glanced right across the centre, Patrick stiffened and held his breath. "Stop," he tried not to groan. He gasped a little when Pete did it again, masking the sound with, "I want to see."

And then Pete had a mirror. Confusingly, as Patrick already had one hanging up by the door. Pete propped it up against the wall. "Stand up."  
At Patrick's refusal, he just sighed and helped him up, gripping his arms and guiding him in front of the mirror.

The purpose of the second mirror became clear when Patrick could see nothing but a peak of white over one shoulder in the mirror on his wall. Pete hoisted the second mirror into the air and Patrick wondered if he had strength to match his speed, but was distracted.

First, by the strip of tattooed skin exposed as Pete lifted his arms into the air and second, by the mirror coming into the correct angle and showing Patrick the new addition to his body in full.

Okay, not as boring as he'd expected. A bright yellow centre with a star of white around it and a sky blue colour bleeding out up to the tips, where it was pale again at the edges. There were only five petals - not like Pete's layers upon layers of red spirals.

Patrick blinked at his reflection for a while and then caught Pete's eyes in the mirror. Pete's pupils were twice the size and his mouth was slack and he yelled, "Mom! He's awake, come see!"

Pete's mom, who wasn't in the room two seconds ago but was now visible in the mirror behind them both, frowned.  
"Peter, he's not an zoo animal! Remember your manners, stop making him uncomfortable. Sorry, sweetie," she turned to Patrick, "He's just excited. Are you holding up okay?"  
Patrick nodded.

"That's great, honey. Listen, I really have to be somewhere right now but Pete knows what to do from here, and you're getting along fine." She kissed Pete on the cheek - which he grimaced at and looked embarrassed - and mumbled something in his ear, and disappeared.

Pete groaned, " _Finally_ ," as he locked the door and turned on Patrick. Before he could do anything more than squeak, Patrick was pressed against the wall with one of Pete's hands under his shirt.

"You have an unfair advantage," he gasped.

  
"What, the speed thing?" Taking advantage of Pete's distraction to slip out of his grasp, Patrick stepped back.

Pete pouted and reclaimed Patrick in his arms. "Please, Patrick, you can't do that to me right now, I was so good in front of my mom and now I really need you to-"

Patrick pushed Pete off and crossed his arms around himself, huffing. "Pete, no," He could hear how pissy he sounded but it was his right, he decided, if Pete wouldn't drop it. "Fuck off. My mom's probably coming back soon and I'm really tired and a little confused and everywhere hurts and I think your mom's potion is kicking in because I don't feel like I want anything right now, except sleep and maybe food and time to process..."

A tear slid from his eye and Patrick considered wiping it away and ignoring it but, considering everything he'd been through, he really deserved at least one tear. Maybe he took a tiny amount of pleasure in Pete's stricken expression and the way he bundled Patrick into his arms and repeated, "I'm so sorry, love."

He crushed the petals bursting from Patrick's back, which kind of hurt, but he was kissing Patrick's head and calling him non-annoying pet names, so he nestled into Pete's embrace and mumbled, "No, it's okay. Nap with me?"

Pete looked heartbroken. Patrick felt this was a slight overreaction. "I _can't_... I'm feeling super ill right now; I usually can't stand to be inside longer than about five hours and I've stayed a lot longer.” Pete fiddled with Patrick's hair looking antsy and paler than usual.

“Also, I really don't think it's great for me to be around you until you stop smelling like that. I guess it's going to take a few more hours to fully go away. If you have any leftovers from dinner, you can leave it out for me - like Santa Claus! I'll be back tonight like always, okay?" Pete looked so torn and wistful but he was practically shaking with the effort of restraining himself as he kissed Patrick goodnight.

"Bye," Patrick said in a small voice, but Pete was gone already.

  
***

  
Patrick was awoken sometime around midnight by a feeling like someone was pinching him. His dream, obviously, had been about Pete, and when he woke up he thought he may have possibly been humping the mattress.

  
"Wht're doin?" he whined, knowing instinctively that the pain was Pete's fault. He opened his eyes and saw Pete with a pair of scissors and a handful of yellow.

"I was trying to do it while you were asleep. You need to burn these," he said, offering Patrick a paper towel full of stamens. "Can't have you pollinating anyone by accident." 

Patrick was too sleepy to understand what was going on, so he just rolled over and let Pete put the bundle on the side.

"Hello there, sleeping beauty? You didn't leave leftovers."

  
"Mmm," Patrick grumbled as he was displaced by another body appearing at his side and pressing him against the wall to make room.

 

  
He heard Pete sigh. "C'mon, talk to me I'm bored," Pete pressed.

" _You're_ bored? I've been lying here all day in the same position with my back to the wall in case someone came in. I don't know what I'm meant to do for a _week_ \- tomorrow is Friday, I guess so then I don't have to worry about skipping school for the weekend but then what? I put on really baggy clothes and go out, or something?"

Pete shrugged. "That's four days, it won't be longer than that, especially your first time. This weekend you could... come over to my place? I was talking to my mom and apparently the redder the flower, the longer it lasts. So you're probably going to get off with like... three days or something, she thinks. Anyway, if you come to mine, you won't have to cover up or anything."

  
Patrick burrowed into Pete's side. “Sounds nice,” he said wistfully.


	2. Chapter 2

“Do I get magic powers now?” Patrick asked boredly. Pete's apartment was different to what he'd expected. There was a roommate - that didn't seem to care about the fucking flower fairies constantly making their way in and out - but he'd left a while ago. 

 

 

There were posters and neatly framed modern artwork littered around the walls. All the wood furniture didn't look like the kind of ikea shit most college students had. They were all solid oak, Pete informed him proudly. Patrick thought maybe some of his magical buddies had made them for him. 

 

 

There were more windows than Patrick could count, and potted plants or vases of flowers on every surface, all looking startlingly alive for the time and place. 

 

 

Pete was staring vacantly out of one of these windows. “Stop standing in the corner like a bad smell and tell me if I'm magic now.” Patrick repeated. 

 

“I doubt it,” Pete shrugged. “You haven't become more of a faery or anything because of this. It's just your flower. So unless you were already magic…”

 

 

Patrick sighed, his shoulders sinking. He was imagining various scenarios where magically disappearing like Pete could would be useful. A fair few of them involved chasing after Pete when he disappeared.

 

 

His thoughts were interrupted as Pete plopped down beside him, jarring his petals and making him squeak in pain. “Owww,” he whined, pouting and trying to make Pete feel as guilty as possible. “So by Monday I think I'll be okay again."

It was only Saturday and the blue petals were already drooping and wilting. When he woke up in the morning, there'd been a pale blue calling card left behind in the bed - Pete's bed. 

 

 

He realised something. “But I don't finish high school for a few months. I'm not fucking my attendance up like this. What the hell do I do?”

 

 

Pete smiled fondly. “Don't worry. Next time it won't be all sore so you can bind them up and wear a baggy sweater and it'll be fine.”

 

 

Patrick grimaced. It's not like he was fond of taking his shirt off in public, but. Fucking Pete Wentz. 

 

 

***

 

 

Patrick went home that night. His mom was not the kind of person that condoned spending two nights in a row away from home. 

 

 

He woke up to a bed full of blue petals and felt strangely disappointed. A look in the mirror displayed just one left. He also saw a yellow stamen peeking out and remembered what Pete had said.

 

 

 There was a lot for him to learn about faerie reproduction, especially with him being half each - wait, could he even have kids, or was he technically an infertile hybrid? - but he definitely didn't want to accidentally impregnate any passing faeries.  

 

 

Actually snipping them off was easier said than done. He was prepared for the pain, but alone in his room with a pair of nail scissors, it took some serious gymnastics just to reach. 

 

 

As soon as he had the opportunity, Patrick left a vague note for his mom and caught the bus back to Pete's. He brought the wooden guitar Pete had carved for him, figuring there was no point in bringing drumsticks with no drums. 

 

 

***

 

 

“You should sing for me,” was Pete's greeting when he opened the door. Patrick stared at him for a moment. 

 

 

“I just got here,” he said. He was torn. He loved singing, he did. But being such an awesome drummer made him doubtful of his vocal performance in comparison. He expected a lot from himself, and he didn't want to embarrass himself. But Pete was always so complimentary about his voice, and it made his heart glow to hear. Now, if only he could do something about that stage fright. 

 

 

“I know. I missed you.”

Patrick took that as adequate invitation to grab Pete's face and yank him into a kiss. Neither of them actually moved, just leaned tenderly into each other with their lips moving against each other. It felt like they'd been apart for months, not less than a day.

 

 

“I can't even tell if your mom’s potion is wearing off, or if I just really really like you,” Patrick giggled. 

 

 

“Both?” Pete said hopefully, devilish charm all over his face. “You like me enough to sing for me?”

 

 

***

 

 

Patrick was curled up in Pete's bed with a sleepy smile on his face, while Pete made him coffee. It was only five in the evening, but Pete had warned him he might be a little lethargic during his whole ordeal, and he'd had to take a nap when the evening approached. 

 

 

Pete had insisted on taking it with him, but Patrick wasn't sure he spent any of the time actually sleeping and not just ogling his boyfriend. 

 

 

“Coffee!!” Pete singsonged, sashaying in his apron like he'd just cooked a four course meal and not instant coffee. He thundered into bed beside Patrick, almost spilling the boiling liquid over both of them, and kissed Patrick's cheek. As he was pulling back, his eyes moved to somewhere behind Patrick and widened in surprise. 

 

 

He made a dive, emerging victoriously from the blankets with a long petal, the palest blue of all the ones Patrick had seen.

“Your first bloom is done,” he uttered, like it was a wedding. “I'm so proud of you! We need to press this, it's like the faery version of your first lock of hair.”

 

 

“Isn't it more like keeping your first period in a jar,” Patrick deadpanned back, but Pete just hugged him and hopped out of bed, digging out the heaviest books and muttering to himself. 

“This is a really lovely one, Rick, especially for your first time. Look how good the condition is, and the colour… My first- wait, oh my God,” he said, interrupting himself. He buried the petal under all the books and scurried out of the room. 

 

 

Patrick fell back against the pillows. He couldn't say he wasn't glad it was over. But at the end, he was also glad it happened. He’d cursed Pete within an inch of his life, but maybe it wasn't so bad. Still, he hoped all his seasons were just as brief as this one. 

 

 

Pete returned a moment later with a frame at least two feet long. Inside was a long, purplish petal with a pointed end and white flecks. 

“Mom framed it,” is all he said. 

Patrick had already seen it, he realised, hanging in the doorway in pride of place, but at the time he'd barely noticed and must have dismissed it as a painting. 

 

 

Up close it was definitely real, flat and browned at the edges from being pressed, but with the lingering essence of life that all Pete's houseplants seemed to have. 

“Spell of longevity,” Pete answered the question Patrick hadn't asked. “It works pretty well: Mom still has hers. I'll put it on yours once it's pressed.”

 

 

Patrick pressed his fingers to the glass. “It's pretty. Purple would suit you. How old were you?”

 

 

Pete grinned. “Why thank you, Paddy. I was thirteen, actually. You got off lucky, missing out on five years of this bullshit. I'm cool with it now, but _man_ it fucks with your childhood.”

 

 

“Mm,” Patrick agreed distractedly, pressing his head against Pete's chest and trying not to yawn. He'd just woken up, but all the slight chaos had tired him out again. He felt Pete's lips in his hair and looked up, trying to make his eyes wide and innocent. “After this, are you going to disappear again? I mean like how it was before, I'd only see you at night and never in the morning, being all mysterious and never sleeping,” he pouted. “I like worrying you. It means you stay.”

 

 

Pete looked thoughtful. “You're at school all day, and I can't exactly just show up in your classes. I could…” he sat up, but refused to say anything else to Patrick. 

 

 

***

 

 

Patrick poked his head out behind his mom and had to stifle a laugh. Pete had slicked his hair back, found a sweater vest from somewhere, and was wearing these ridiculous chunky glasses as he smiled at Patricia like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. 

 

 

“Hi, I'm Pete!” he chirped, and oh my god who was this stranger in Patrick's porch, he barely recognised him. “I'm here to tutor Patrick in his politics class?”

 

 

“But Rick gets As in-”

 

 

Patrick laughed as Pete shouldered past her to Patrick, shaking his head and looking solemn. “He believes he can do better. He contacted me to try and improve his grade from low A- to high A+. It's these little differences that can sway a college completely,” he said seriously. 

 

 

Patrick batted his eyelashes at his mom like this was all totally true. She looked taken aback. “Rick, I never knew you were so responsible! Come in, Pete.”

 

 

“That's Patrick,” Pete agreed, winking as he slipped out of his shoes and coat, “Responsible.”


End file.
